


It's Our Little Secret

by flyingsolo_flyingfree



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Misha, M/M, Polyamory, Semi-Public Sex, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingsolo_flyingfree/pseuds/flyingsolo_flyingfree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Why’d you come down here?” </p><p>Misha takes his eyes off Jensen, glancing around the room. “To see if the set-up is right.” </p><p>“Right for what?” </p><p>Misha meets his eyes again with a mischievous grin. “I’m going to sit under the table while you do autographs. And I am going to blow you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Our Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> No disrespect meant to anyone at all-- this is entirely my own brain child.
> 
> Based on Comic Con 2015, when Misha showed up for a panel with his fly down.
> 
> (come find me on tumblr at selfless-Sam!!)

It’s day two of Dallas Con. Jared and Jensen had a morning panel, and now they’re setting up for autographs. Misha’s technically not on until later in the afternoon, when the three of them are doing a panel together, but he’s already been walking around backstage, saying hi to everyone and bringing coffee by.

Now, everyone’s bustling around them, getting the tables set up, making sure everyone has Sharpies. “On in five,” one of the people in charge announces, then calls everyone but Jared and Jensen out of the room for one last bout of instructions.

That’s when Misha saunters through one of the side doors. “Hey, man!” Jared says, beaming. He claps a hand on Misha’s shoulder. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just wanted to say hello before you’re submerged in a sea of fans.”

Jared laughs, a sound that echoes through the space. He’s better now than he was several months ago, when he took off and headed home for his family. He doesn’t seem so burnt out, Jensen’s observed. It’s a relief to see his best friend smiling again.

Misha turns to give Jensen a quick hug. “You guys ready?” he asks, glancing back and forth between the two of them. Jared holds his arms out in a come-at-me gesture.

“Yeah, man, bring it.”

There’s a vibration, and all three of them immediately reach for their pockets. Jared’s the one to pull his phone out, and when he sees the caller ID, he answers. “Hey.” His whole face lights up. “Hey, Shep! Hi buddy!” He listens for a moment, smiling hugely. “Yeah, daddy misses you too.” He holds up a finger to signal that he’ll be right back and he jogs out the side door to talk to his son.

As soon as he’s gone, Misha’s immediately up in Jensen’s space. Jensen steps back a bit, uneasy with so many fangirls gathering right outside the door. But Misha’s a stubborn bastard and he comes after Jensen easily, grabbing his belt loops to keep him close.

“Didn’t you wonder why I decided to come down early?” Misha breathes, and Jensen bites his lip, because Misha says _come_ like he’d say it, command it, when they’re in bed.

“It did cross my mind,” Jensen replies weakly, staring at Misha’s mouth. He ducks his head in an attempt at a kiss but Misha dodges it easily. Jensen groans under his breath. “Goddamn tease. Why’d you come down here?”

Misha takes his eyes off Jensen, glancing around the room. “To see if the set-up is right.”

“Right for what?”

Misha meets his eyes again with a mischievous grin. “I’m going to sit under the table while you do autographs. And I am going to blow you.”

Jensen stares, mouth open. “You are not.”

“Yeah, I am. I’ve always wanted to try it. And as much as you pretend you’re not, you’re kind of a sucker for semi-public sex.”

Jensen feels Misha’s hand at his thigh, and when he looks down, Misha’s slipping a packet of lube into the front pocket of Jensen’s jeans. There’s a table cloth over the table Jensen where Jensen will be sitting, and it drapes all the way down to the floor. They’re pretty strict about not letting the fans get too close. It’s possible that no one would see Misha if he hid under there.

Still, it’s extremely risky. Jensen’s never been good at keeping a straight face if someone’s mouth is on his dick (something Danneel gives him shit for all the time), let alone being coherent enough to interact with hundreds of people. It’s a horrible idea, really.

Somehow, though, he’s half hard just thinking about it.

“Mmmm,” Misha rumbles, still not kissing Jensen but close enough that Jensen can feel the puff of breath against his chin. “I knew you’d be up for it.”

The sound of the door opening sends Misha down to his knees to crawl beneath the table. He turns and winks and Jensen over his shoulder, and then he’s under, concealed by the table cloth. He and Jared are at different tables, so that’s a good thing, but Jensen’s still reeling. Misha is batshit insane.

Jared walks back in, pocketing his phone, and when he sees Jensen standing alone, he tilts his head. “Where’d Misha go? I didn’t see him come out the side door.”

“Yeah, you just missed him. He went out the front.”

Jared raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “Into the crowd?”

Jensen raises his shoulder in a shrug, then the Con employees are swarming back in and telling Jensen and Jared to sit, handing each of them a bottle of water and ushering them to their respective tables.

Jensen is cautious pulling his chair in, unsure where exactly Misha is but knowing he doesn’t want to kick him. The table cloth is only at his knees, though, and in a moment, he feels Misha’s hands wrapped around his calf, tugging him, urging him to move his chair in closer. The woman standing by him gives him a look when he scoots all the way forward, pressing his stomach to the edge of the table. But in a minute, they open the front doors and the autographs begin.

Part of what keeps Jensen on edge is that he doesn’t know what Misha’s doing down there. At first, Misha doesn’t touch him. For probably the first forty minutes, there’s nothing—he’s probably just playing some dumb game on his phone, or maybe he’s tweeting. The anticipation keeps Jensen on edge, sharp and alert. At around the 45 minute mark, he feels Misha tugging the table cloth by Jensen’s lap, sliding it back in a way that he could get at the button and zipper of Jensen’s jeans. Technically, if someone were standing behind him, they may be able to see underneath the table where the cloth is bunched up in his lap. Jensen shoots a glance over his shoulder, but thankfully, there’s no one directly behind him. There’s someone guarding the side door, but the fans enter through a door directly in front of him and exit through a door that’s just a ways off to his right. No one will be able to see Misha.

After a little while, gentle hands begin to stroke his legs. Slowly, up and down, traveling from his ankles to his thighs and back. Nothing insistent, nothing overtly sexual yet, but Jensen still feels the gears whirring to life in the pit of his stomach.

Another ten minutes pass before Misha reaches underneath the leg of Jensen’s jeans, raking his nails up and down the flesh of Jensen’s calf, one and then the other. Jensen has to suppress a shiver once or twice but he otherwise maintains a calm and collected exterior.

Misha must be watching the time, must hear when the steady stream of fans is beginning to wane, because that’s when he starts to play dirty. He brushes his knuckles against Jensen’s cock, barely any pressure, but it’s enough to make Jensen draw in a quick breath. He turns it into a cough and the girl in front of him doesn’t seem to notice, smiling at him brilliantly. He feels so dirty, but that’s half the thrill too, and _man_ , Misha has brought out sides of him that he didn’t even know he had. He doesn’t even have it in him to resist anymore.

More time passes while Misha just kneads at Jensen’s dick, which is now ready and raring to go, straining against zipper and denim. Just that light touch, tracing the line of his cock—it’s slowly driving him mad. He can feel his mind begin to wander, his composure beginning to fray at the edges, and he works harder to try to really see each person who steps in front of him. All of these people spent money for this, he reminds himself, trying to keep his breathing steady, and they deserve all of his attention. Or at this rate, at least most of it.

He can see the end of the line when Misha’s hands finally reach for the button of his jeans. Jensen leans farther forward on the table, bracing his weight on his elbows, to ensure that no one who stares down at him will see anything. At this point, his pulse is thrumming steadily, a drumbeat in his ears, muffling the din of the room. Misha takes his time with this, too, half to tease Jensen and half to ensure he doesn’t jostle the table cloth too much. He strokes Jensen’s dick through his briefs for a minute or two, and Jensen’s getting close to yelling at him to get the show on the road when he finally pulls Jensen’s dick out, and then there’s skin on skin.

Jensen can’t conceal the way he sucks in a breath this time.

And unfortunately, the girl in front of him notices.

There are two of them, a blonde and a brunette. They’re not too young, probably early twenties, and they hear the way he inhales sharply through his nose.

“You okay?” the blonde girl says to him, staring at him with concern.

“Yeah, totally fine!” Jensen tries to turn it into a yawn, and she looks at him funny, but she hands him a glossy photo to sign and makes brief small talk anyway, and then her friend follows suit.

She’s still studying Jensen, though, as she thanks him, and he tries to give her his most reassuring smile, but as they walk away, he can hear her whisper to her friend, “His pupils were really dilated for how bright it is in here.”

Damn, he forgot just how perceptive fangirls can be.

He turns his eyes directly toward the fluorescent light, trying to get his (apparently dilated) pupils to return to some semblance of normal. But then Misha’s palm disappears for a minute, and then when it returns, it’s damp, like he licked it thoroughly. Jensen gives up on his eyes altogether.

He still tries to give his most charming grins to the dwindling population of fans. A few of them bring art of Dean and Cas, the G-rated stuff that gets by the initial screening, but it’s still pretty blatantly “ship”y. That’s what it’s called, right?

Jensen wants to laugh every time he signs one of those right now. Nearly says, _oh yeah, Cas’ hands are on my dick as we speak_.

But he signs quickly and the staff moves them along. They’ve got a panel scheduled for three, and it’s nearly 2:35, according to the clock on the wall. He hears a woman speak into a walkie talkie, saying they’ve got to move it along.

That’s when Misha takes his cock into his mouth, swallowing right to the root without any preamble.

Jensen hunches in for a moment, dropping his head between his shoulders. There’s sweat beading on his temples and he swipes it away with the back of his hand. Thankfully, one fan just walked off and the other is talking to a friend animatedly before she realizes it’s her turn, so his initial reaction goes unobserved.

It’s much harder to keep a straight face now.

Misha sucks him slow, so damn slow, pulling off frequently just to jack him, his palm soaked with spit by now.

Their panel is in fifteen minutes, and there are probably twenty people left in the line. The staff is pushing everyone along, and Jensen truly feels bad, he knows how long people look forward to these autographs, to these brief moments with the stars of their favorite TV show. The fans seem fairly understanding, though, most of them still utterly starstruck when they approach Jensen.

He turns to the woman standing at the corner of the table.

“Hey, do you have a piece of paper? I just want to jot something down.”

She doesn’t question him and rips a corner off the schedule that’s pinned to the clipboard in her arms. He thanks her, and brings the scrap of paper to the edge of the table, covering it with his hand. The next fan is just approaching as he finishes scribbling, “Open yourself up for me.” He panics for half of a second that the sharpie bled through to the table cloth, and sure enough, there are a few black splotches on the white fabric. The fan steps forward and sees the slip of paper between his fingers, sees his wide eyes staring at the cloth, and she giggles. He whispers “shh!” and she nods, grinning at him. The staff doesn’t notice and, thankfully, it’s only inky Rorschach blots rather than full words.

He acts like he’s slipping the note in his back pocket. In reality, he slides it beneath his thigh, where Misha’s questing fingers snatch it up easily. Misha’s licking a stripe along the underside of Jensen’s cock when he reads it, and the reason Jensen knows is because he can feel the gentle rumble of a groan. He then feels Misha remove the packet of lube from his front pocket, and he can’t help the way his breathing speeds up. There are only a few fans left in line now.

Misha’s mouth moves away from his cock and in his absence it’s cold, spit-slick and erect beneath the table. He’s harder than he can remember being in a long time. He feels rustling at his feet and, shit, Misha must be taking his clothes off. His suspicions are confirmed two autographs later, when Misha returns to suck his cock and now, Jensen feels the bare skin of his chest, the rough points of his nipples against his knee. He bites down on his lip. The last girl is too annoyed by how quickly she’s being pushed along to notice the slight shaking of Jensen’s fingers. He does catch her hand and murmur a sincere, “Sorry,” and she seems to perk up slightly at that. As she’s ushered out of the room and the staff closes the doors, everyone files out quickly. Jared was done a minute or two before him and he meanders over to the front of Jensen’s table. Jensen takes out his phone and pretends to be texting.

“Hey, I’m gonna go over to the panel hall early, try to get a few minutes of peace and quiet. Wanna come?”

“In a minute,” Jensen says, and God, he hopes he isn’t as flushed as he thinks he is. “I’m gonna call Danneel,” he says by way of explanation, waving his phone, “while it’s quiet in here for a minute. I’m worried I won’t be able to hear her if I’m backstage.”

Jared, thankfully, seems distracted. At the very least, he buys Jensen’s explanation. “Sure thing, man. I’ll tell the staff to clear outta here, and tell them to just guard the doors ‘til you come out.” He holds up his hand for a high five, and it takes Jensen a second to meet him halfway, and his palms are a sweaty mess.

Jared pretends to shake his hand in disgust, but he’s smiling. “Yeah, it’s hot in here,” he says. “See you!”

Misha’s had his lips wrapped around the head of Jensen’s cock for the last three minutes, sucking determinedly, and Jensen watches as Jared makes a motion for the staff to leave, watches as he speaks quietly to the guard. Jensen watches the doors close, leaving him alone, and for a long moment, he doesn’t move.

Then, he hears a filthy slick sound coming from beneath the table.

He doesn’t bother to stop the moan that rips from his throat, and after a final look around the room to confirm that they’re alone, he scoots his chair back, pulling Misha’s mouth off his cock and sliding away from the table. He reaches down to grab Misha and haul him up, only to discover that Misha’s completely naked.

“Dude, are you fucking insane? What if one of them had seen you?” he asks, ignoring how breathless he sounds. Misha crawls out from beneath the table and Jensen sees the glisten of lube on his fingers and, shit, in the cleft of his ass.

“They already think we’re fucking, Jensen,” Misha reminds him pointedly, before he crawls forward again and swallows Jensen’s cock down. Now, Jensen can watch as Misha bobs his head and thumbs his balls, he can watch the way Misha’s eyes dart up to meet his. He loves to watch Jensen watching him.

Jensen’s voice is sex-rough, even if he’s not the one with a dick in his mouth.“Did you do what I asked? Get yourself nice and open for me?”

Misha releases his cock and swears, and now he stands slowly, cringing as he does, rubbing his knees. Jensen sees the condom he’s holding between two fingers and he licks his lips.

“Hey, man, this was your genius idea,” Jensen reminds him, and Misha grins, slow and sure of himself as he leans down again. Jensen’s still sitting, pretty much glued to his chair, and Misha leans over, rubs their noses together.

“And wasn’t it a good one?” he whispers against Jensen’s lips. Jensen doesn’t respond, just grabs the back of Misha’s neck and pulls until they’re kissing, deep and wet and dirty, skipping right over chaste and going directly to slack-jawed tongue-fucking.

“Did you like that, Jensen?” Misha huffs when he pulls away to mouth at Jensen’s jaw, the two-day stubble that’s there. “Did you like me sucking you off while there were people standing all around us?” He’s teasing, now, his fingers traveling up and down Jensen’s cock, his teeth scraping at Jensen’s earlobe.

“What the fuck do you think?” Jensen growls, and he grabs Misha’s hips, yanks him down. There isn’t any extra room on the seat of the chair, so Misha can’t fit his knees next to Jensen’s thighs. Instead, he sits facing Jensen with his feet on the floor. Jensen can’t see the clock from where he is anymore, and as he drags a hand down Misha’s chest to stroke his cock, he asks, “How much time do we have?”

Misha gasps as Jensen presses his fingers inside, and he raises his head, his eyes glazed over as he searches the room. “Seven minutes,” he says, bucking down into Jensen’s touch with a gruff, “Shit, do that again.”

Jensen repeats the motion, curling his two fingers and watching enraptured as Misha throws his head back.

“We don’t have time,” he says, tugging Jensen’s fingers out, moving his hand out of the way, and Jensen snorts.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been hard for an hour and a half. This is going to be over in two minutes.”

Misha rolls the condom down on Jensen’s cock, lines himself up and sinks down in one quick motion, and they both muffle their groans into the other’s neck. Jensen hisses, “Move, Mish,” and Misha sets up a punishing rhythm, snapping his hips fast, his cock bobbing against Jensen’s stomach where he rucked his shirt up. Jensen sees the ripple of Misha’s thighs from the effort, can feel drops of sweat beginning to trickle down from the backs of Misha’s knees to soak through Jensen’s jeans. Jensen grabs Misha’s ass and squeezes, pulls Misha down and up on his cock with as much force as he can manage.

And still, in midst of all of it, Misha has enough brain cells to string together dirty talk. “Just think of how close to everyone we were,” he pants in Jensen’s ear, “how close we still are. There are people right outside this door.” He bites Jensen’s bottom lip, hard, soothes the sting by sucking it into his mouth. “Someone could walk in here any minute.” The thought terrifies Jensen, but it also brings him really close to the precipice, his dick jerking inside Misha. He knew this was going to be fast.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grunts, digging his nails into Misha’s hips. Misha’s rhythm begins to stutter and Jensen knows his tells, knows he’s close. He wraps a hand around Misha’s dick, says, “Come on, come for me.”

Jensen barely spares a thought to think that he hopes his shirt is sufficiently out of the way. Misha cries out quietly, and Jensen presses fingers to Misha’s mouth to shush him but Misha just sucks on his fingers and comes. Jensen follows only half a breath behind him, sinking his teeth into Misha’s shoulder.

Misha continues to jerk his hips through Jensen’s orgasm, probably not even noticing he’s doing it. They lean their foreheads together, sweaty and panting.

“I’m way too old for this,” Jensen grumbles, and Misha snorts, mutters “shut up” and kisses Jensen languidly.

Only a minute passes before Jensen breaks the kiss, gently lifting Misha off his lap. Misha sucks in a breath, standing fully as Jensen’s cock slides out. “Don’t move,” he orders, walking buck ass naked over to the table to retrieve his clothes. He pulls a few tissues from his back pocket and hobbles back over, handing one to Jensen to put the condom in while he wipes his mess off Jensen’s stomach.

“You came prepared,” Jensen murmurs, quirking an eyebrow. Misha grins.

That’s when they hear voices outside the door, namely, a voice that sounds an awful lot like Jared’s. “Fuck, _shit_ ,” Jensen curses, standing and tucking himself in, zippering his jeans hastily. Misha’s standing there, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights, and when they hear the door start to open, Jensen waves frantically. Misha dives underneath the table and Jensen somehow manages to whip his phone out and press it to his ear just as Jared comes into view.

“Yeah, babe. I love you too. Talk soon, okay?” He pretends to listen for a minute, smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Bye.” He pretends to hang up, hopes he looks totally innocent as Jared enters. “Hey, what’s going on?”

He thinks Jared is coming to yell at him because the panel is supposed to start in a minute. Instead, Jared is wearing an expression that’s a cross between annoyance and worry.

“Have you seen Misha? He’s not in his room, no one can find him.”

Jensen can hear the quiet snort from underneath the table but it’s at the same time the air conditioning rattles to life, so Jared doesn’t seem to hear it. Jensen calls upon every acting skill he has to keep a straight face.

“Shit, man, no, I haven’t. He told me when he left that he was going up to take a nap.”

Jared takes out his phone, and Jensen has a moment to send up a prayer that Jared won’t call Misha right now, because they’d be fucked. Misha almost always keeps his phone on loud. In a crowded room of fans, no one would’ve heard it. Now, it’d be impossible not to.

Thankfully, Jared presses a button, looks at the screen, and puts it back in his pocket. “I called and texted him, and I haven’t heard anything back.”

Jensen knows that he won’t be able to convincingly feign concern right now, he’s too lax and happy, so he aims instead for dismissive. “We’re never on time to these panels, dude. And Misha will show. He always does.”

Jared nods, still looking a bit worried, but he agrees, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Then he stares at Jensen. “Your cheeks are red, Jen. Was Danneel getting you all worked up?”

Jensen plasters on a cocky grin, like he’s caught red-handed. Jared knows him too well. “Yeah, she was trying.”

Jared smirks. “Seems like it worked.”

Jensen waves him off. “Gimme a sec to pull myself together. I’ll be right there.”

Jared nods, jokes, “Don’t take too long.” On his way out, he calls over his shoulder, “And if you find Misha, bring him with you.”

Jensen waits until the door has closed, plus an extra couple of seconds to make sure Jared doesn’t come back. Misha crawls out from beneath the table fully clothed and no worse for the wear.

As he stands, Jensen murmurs, “Found you,” with a grin, bringing their mouths together.

Misha kisses him for a minute and then pulls away, muttering, “Damnit.”

“What’s up?”

Misha looks mournfully at Jensen’s phone, still cradled in one hand. “We really should’ve filmed that for our wives.”

Jensen feels the tips of his ears heat up just with the thought of it. Danneel would have _really_ liked to see it. “Yeah, we should’ve,” Jensen agrees.

Misha gives him one last peck on the lips and starts walking backwards. “I know another exit. I’ll sneak in backstage to the panel. We’ll only be three minutes late.”

Jensen calls out, “We should do this more often!” to Misha’s back as he leaves, and Misha grins over his shoulder, says, “I’ve got your number, Ackles.”

Jensen waits another minute before he leaves, mainly to give time for his cheeks and neck to return to something resembling their normal color. When he arrives backstage to the panel, Misha is already there, chatting amicably with Jared. “There you are,” Jared says, and he notifies one of the crew that they’re all there and they’re ready.

They come on stage a minute later and the hall fills with shrieks and wild applause. They sit, Jared in between the two of them. They greet the crowd, only to be met with more screams.

As it dies down again, Jared chuckles and says into the microphone, “Hey Misha, your fly’s down.”

There’s uproarious laughter, and Jensen makes a face like, _oh, how embarrassing_. He’s still too loose and relaxed to worry about it.

That is, until he hears a quiet gasp from the front row as Misha stands to zip his jeans. Jensen searches in the crowd and finds the source of the sound—it’s the same blonde girl from autographs, the one who noticed that something was up.

Jensen feels his eyes go wide, and the girl is staring at him, mouth open. Jensen lightly taps his finger to his lips once, a movement so brief that he knows no one will notice besides her, since everyone else is paying attention to Misha as he’s fixing himself and sitting down.

The girl sees his gesture and she nods slowly, agreeing to keep the secret. Jensen smiles at her, genuine, and he winks.

A grin spreads across her face and she gives him a thumbs up.

 

 

 

All in all, not a bad convention.


End file.
